The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (16 page)

 The commemoration ball, known to Oxford
under- graduates as the Commem, is held every May, towards

the end of the academic year.
By tradition it commemorates the University’s many founders and benefactors,
though it is fair to say that at this point in their lives the thoughts of most
undergraduates are focused not on their elders and betters but on their end of
year exam results, their degrees and job prospects. For one brief night,
though, the Commem offers them the chance to forget such weighty matters and
relax.

Arthur was eighteen, and this
was his first year at college. Being a handsome and charismatic young man, he
was popular with the opposite sex, his mop of blond hair and cornflower blue
eyes causing many a heart to skip a beat. Until now, however, there had been no
special girl in his life; passing fancies, yes, but not true love; that was a
state he had never experienced. Not that he had consciously shunned it, it was
simply that he was more inclined to fun than to serious entanglements. And so,
like many of his friends, when the evening of the Commem. Ball arrived, he was
footloose and fancy free.

The gardens and quadrangles of
the college were crowded with undergraduates, staff and guests, men in dinner
jackets, ladies in evening dresses. As the sun sank below the spires and towers
of Oxford the shadows lengthened on the lawns, and the evening air was heavy
with the sweet scents of spring. A more romantic setting could hardly be
imagined. Lennox Lotte could not recall when he was last at a dance of any
sort. Being clumsy on his feet, he had never much cared for dancing. It never
occurred to him to ask why Margot wanted to come to the Commem. Ball. She did,
and that was good enough for him. She was a gorgeous girl, a marvellous wife,
and an excellent mother to Gawain, Agravaine and Gaheris, their three sons. He
would do anything for her, anything at all. As luck would have it, the master
of the college had been a close friend of his late father, so it had been easy
enough to arrange an invitation.

Whatever happened he was
determined to enjoy himself, as much for Margot’s sake as for his own. However,
shortly after walking though the college gates and meeting the master, he and
Margot were separated. There was some jostling, nothing serious, just some
high-spirits in the quad, and the next moment she was gone. Lennox was nervous,
Margot would certainly feel out of place amongst all these youngsters. Who did
she know? Not a soul. He located the master again. ‘Where c-could she have
g-got to?’ he enquired anxiously. ‘Not to worry, Lennox,’ said the master
reassuringly, ‘she’s bound to turn up soon. Such crowds, you know. Try the
gardens,’ he suggested helpfully.

There were several hundred
people in the gardens, none of them Margot. He looked around the college but
could not find her. She was not in the library nor in the Junior Common Room
nor in the dining hall where the dancing would begin at eight o’clock, and he
could only hope that sooner or later she would come looking for him there. If
there was one thing she loved, it was dancing. That thought lifted his spirits.
She would be in the hall, of course she would, ready to dance her heart out
when the Ball began. Helping himself to another glass of champagne, he wandered
disconsolately about the college gardens, killing time till the dance started.

At ten minutes to eight he
hurried across the lower quadrangle to the dining hall. Outside the heavy oak
doors a crowd of people had formed a queue, waiting to get in. Looking around,
Margot was nowhere to be seen. When the doors opened, he rushed in and
positioned himself close to the entrance, so that he would not miss her when
she arrived. But to his growing consternation, she did not.

The Master and the President
of the Junior Common Room briefly welcomed the guests, the band struck up and
the dance was under way. Outside Lennox roamed the quadrangle with a heavy
heart. Still no Margot. What a bore. Where could she be? He would give her a
piece of his mind when she turned up. What did she think she was doing walking
out on him like this? It was inconsiderate – no, more than that, it was
irresponsible. He did not know a single, solitary soul. Not that he wanted to,
surrounded as he was by kids. Surely undergraduates had never looked as young
as this before, most certainly not in his day. The whole thing was a dreadful
mistake. Why on earth had she been so keen to come? It was beyond him.

The pushing and shoving that
followed the arrival of Lennox and Margot had not been accidental. The instant
she walked through the porter’s lodge into the upper quadrangle, Margot had
attracted attention. It was not surprising, as she had taken particular care
with her make-up and choice of dress and had never looked more alluring. All
about her, voices were hushed and heads turned in her direction. Surrounded by
several undergraduates, she and Lennox, by a deft and entirely deliberate
manoeuvre, were separated.

The next moment Margot was in
the centre of a group of young men, one of whom, with his dark hair, flashing
eyes and roguish grin, was particularly good-looking. He bowed theatrically.
‘May I be of assistance?’

‘I’m looking for my husband.’

‘I’m sure he won’t mind if I
borrow you for a while,’ said the handsome young man, demonstrating his bravado
for the amusement of his cronies. ‘Allow me to show you round the college.’
With exaggerated courtesy he offered her his arm.

‘No really, I ought to find him. He was here a
moment ago.

Have you seen him?’

‘Over there!’ responded the
young men in unison, each pointing in a different direction, and amusing
themselves enormously in the process.

Despite her obvious
reluctance, the handsome student, who now held her firmly by the arm, began to
propel Margot in the direction of the college gardens. His persistence was
beginning to scare her, and it showed on her face.

As he was leaving the
quadrangle with a reluctant Margot in tow, a young man blocked their path.
‘Where are you off to, Edward?’ he asked.

A fanciful wave of the hand.
‘I’m taking this lovely lady to wonderland.’

‘And where might that be?’

A sly grin. ‘I’ll let you know when we’ve found
it.’

Though the young man spoke
quietly, there was a hint of warning in his voice. ‘I don’t think she wants to
go there.’

Edward stood his ground
defiantly. ‘Who are you to say what she wants?’

‘Why don’t you ask her?’

‘Why don’t you get lost?’ For
a moment it looked as though he was going to start a fight.

‘Let her go,’ said Arthur
quietly. ‘Why should I?’

‘Because she’s our guest, and you’re a
gentleman.’

For a moment longer Edward
stood his ground, then nodded and released Margot’s arm. ‘See you around,
Arthur,’ he said, and moved back to his friends.

So swiftly had Arthur reacted
to Margot’s predicament that he had not really looked at her. The instant he
did he was smitten. Black hair framed the oval face, delicate features and
glowing skin of a Pre-Raphaelite beauty; never had he seen anyone so lovely. A
little smile of gratitude lifted the corners of her mouth, and in her luminous
brown eyes was an expression so tender that the blood sang in his veins. ‘That
was very gallant of you. Thank you.’

‘Nothing to thank me for,’ said Arthur. ‘He
meant no harm.

High spirits, that’s all.’

‘Thanks all the same. It’s good to know the age
of chivalry is still alive and kicking.’ She stood on tiptoe, slipped her hand
behind his neck, gently pulled his head down, and kissed him on the cheek.

He blushed. ‘I expect your
husband’s waiting for you.’ A slight pause. ‘What makes you so sure I’m
married?’ ‘I thought I heard you say . . . ’

‘An excuse to escape from that young man.’

His spirits rose and instantly
sank. ‘But of course you must have . . . ’

‘What must I have?’

‘A date. I’m sure you have a date.’

Margot lowered her eyes
demurely. ‘I did come with someone.’ Observing Arthur’s dejection, she quickly
added, ‘A relative. A close relative. Not really what you’d call a date.
Anyway, he has disappeared.’

‘In that case,’ said Arthur,
hopeful again, ‘I might just be the luckiest man in the world. May I – um . . .
?’

‘Yes?’ she said encouragingly.
‘May I be your escort tonight?’

It was such a deliciously
old-fashioned way of putting it. And he was cute, quite irresistibly cute. For
one thing, such an exceptionally handsome young man would normally be a touch
conceited, arrogant even; not this one. There was no hint of posturing, no
effort to impress or beguile. On the contrary, he appeared to be not only
entirely unaffected but also completely at ease with himself and the world.
Moreover despite his unassuming manner, he stood out from the crowd, and not
just because he looked like a Greek god. She had noticed how the other students
treated him with respect; he had spoken quietly but they had listened.

‘I’d be delighted,’ she said
gravely. ‘Margot Lotte.’ She held out her hand.

He clasped it as gently as if
it were a new-born puppy. ‘Arthur Hughes,’ he said.

She nodded. For a moment Arthur was puzzled by
that nod. It occurred to him to ask if she had heard his name before, but then
the thought was gone. For the next hour he hardly stopped talking. Never had he
felt so relaxed in a girl’s company. He told her about his childhood and about
life in Ponterlally, he talked a great deal about Merlin, again a name that
seemed to mean something to Margot, though when he asked her if she knew him,
she shook her head. To his own surprise, he spoke of being adopted, something
none of his friends knew.

Most of the students and their
guests had drifted towards the lower quadrangle by now, and the gardens were
almost deserted. They strolled around aimlessly, not knowing or caring where
they were going, so involved were they with each other. After a time their
fingers touched, and soon they were walking hand in hand. Every now and then
Arthur would look down at the lovely woman at his side and marvel. How could
his life have changed so dramatically in so short a time? His heart surged with
happiness.

They sat on a bench under a
May tree, its white blossoms so densely packed, so fat and flawless, that they
were surely at the very peak of perfection. What could be more beautiful,
thought Arthur. If only those blossoms would stay just as they were now. ‘I
shall never forget this moment,’ said Margot quietly. ‘I shall put it in a
cupboard and lock it up. And when I’m old and grey, I’ll take it out and look
at it, and everyone will know poor gran is dreaming her favourite dream again.’

She had read his mind and he
was happy, but also a little afraid. Did love come so quickly, and if it did,
would it last? As if to confirm the ephemeral nature of things, the sky
darkened and there was a crack of thunder. Without warning the rain came, a
heavy spring shower, warm and dense. For a time they were protected by the
overhanging blossoms, but soon they were beaten from the tree and the petals
scattered on the grass. There was nothing now to protect them from the rain,
and if they stayed where they were they would be soaked to the skin.

‘Let’s make a run for it,’
said Arthur. He looked at his watch. It was after nine o’clock. The ball had
started over an hour ago. ‘Time to dance.’

For a second she leaned
against him, then quickly moved away, as if embarrassed by her own daring.
‘Would you mind very much if we didn’t. Not just yet, I mean. Later.’

‘Whatever you say. What would you like to do?’

‘I’d love to find somewhere to
dry off and freshen up. After that we can dance as much as you like.’

He thrust the intruding
thought from his mind; he had a room in college. Any suggestion in that
direction, though made in all innocence, might well be misinterpreted. He was
wondering what to propose when suddenly she jumped up and ran into the full
force of the driving rain. To his amazement she began to turn the most perfect
cartwheels on the lawn, exposing white pants and shapely legs.

‘Come on, let’s see you do
it!’ ‘No chance!’

‘Spoilsport! Try!’

He attempted a cartwheel, and
fell on his back roaring with laughter. Margot stood over him, hands on hips,
legs wide apart. ‘What fun!’ she cried. Holding out her hand, she pulled him to
his feet, and then suddenly to her. Caressing the back of his neck, straining
her body to his, she kissed him passionately. Abruptly she pulled away from
him, and throwing her arms wide, declaimed at the top of her voice:

‘“There was a roaring in the
wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods; But now the sun is
rising calm and bright.”’

‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘do you
love me just a little?’ Eyes shut, she lifted her face to the heavens and let
the rain stream down from her forehead to her chin. He tried to tell her how
his heart was bursting, and that no one in the history of the world had ever
loved as much as he did, but the words would not come, and he stood there,
spellbound, gazing at this entrancing girl, with her wet hair embracing her
cheeks, her rain-soaked ball-gown clinging to her slim body, and her beautiful
face shining in the last rays of the setting sun.

For as if in miraculous
response to the poem’s message, the clouds parted and the rain stopped. He
reached out to her but she was off again, whirling about the lawn, prancing and
leaping like some woodland nymph. Whoever this girl was, she was not of this
world. Suddenly she stumbled and fell awkwardly, lying with eyes closed and
bosom heaving. He knelt beside her, fearing for a moment that something
terrible had happened. Gently he touched her face, and as he did so she growled
and sharp white teeth closed firmly on his fingers. From beneath long lashes
her brown eyes regarded him with the most mischievously seductive expression.
‘Well, do you? Because if you say you don’t, I shall eat you up and spit you
out.’